


The Safety We Crave

by cloverflynn



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Slight power dynamics, Withdrawal, battle violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4092682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverflynn/pseuds/cloverflynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisition demands their focus, but distractions are inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. distraction

**Author's Note:**

> I'm often preoccupied with the Former Circle Mage/Ex-Templar relationship between a female Trevelyan and Cullen, and that often delves into some darkness. I will warn for anything that might be upsetting if I have the foresight to tag it, but please, by all means, let me know if there is anything that needs to be tagged.
> 
> I'm not super experienced at writing, and I may decide to edit chapters as I go along, but I'll make sure to make note of it.
> 
> Edit 6/10/2015: I already want to edit the hell out of this story, and I most certainly will... possibly even adding chapters (as long as that's possible, I have no experience doing heavy editing on AO3). The purpose of posting this story unedited and unfinished is to MAKE MYSELF DO IT. I've been writing fanfiction for YEARS, but good luck finding the vast majority of it. I'm not asking for a gentle hand with comments, in fact I'd appreciate hard criticism (as long as it's constructive, of course.) I merely want to make it clear that I know this isn't a superb work by any means. I'm just trying to get out there, and I appreciate everyone who has read and left kudos so far!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 6/11/15

_She’s staring again._ Cullen shifts uneasily on his feet, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword as he strains to retain the information Leliana is relaying. He can feel a bead of sweat trailing down the back of his neck, and he resists the urge to wipe it away by gripping his sword more tightly. He’s always a bit cowed under the Herald’s attention, the brilliant green-gold of her eyes seemingly peering into the very depths of him, seeking out more than his words offer. Her stare is disconcerting.

She’s sought out his attention often, probing questions into the life of Templars and their habits and… vows. He can’t tell what she’s trying to wheedle out of him, but he offers her what information he can provide. That is, until her curiosity takes a turn into subjects he’d rather not dwell on. Kinloch Hold. Kirkwall. _Vows of chastity._

It’s been some time since anyone has expressed an interest in him, and of course it would be the former Circle Mage Herald of Andraste.

 _Maker, have I not been tested enough?_ Cullen asks, but knows that this is probably not a test but a cruel recompense for the evils of his past.

“I suggest we move forward with contacting the mages,” Leliana finishes, and Cullen starts, taken completely off-guard. How did a simple search for supplies lead to such a definitive opinion on the Great Debate?

“I-” Cullen begins, glancing back to the Herald, her eyes darting quickly away from him.

“I’m not sure we’re ready to make that decision just yet,” Evelyn straightens, smoothing the front of her robes. “We’re still working on helping the refugees in the Hinterlands.”

“Herald,” Cassandra begins, her tone expressing her deep exasperation. “I believe we’ve done all that we can, short of building actual homes for them all.”

“Not that we don’t appreciate your concern over those that have met with such loss,” Josephine interjects, pleasantly.

“They’re right,” Cullen breathes in defeat, “We’ve drawn this out long enough. When do you plan to go to Redcliffe?” He braces for the inevitable. Despite his warnings, he knows that she will have sympathy for her fellows. Her caring heart won't let her abandon them.

“I don’t,” Evelyn surprises everyone in the room, but no one more than the former Templar. She seeks out his gaze, a heavy silence accentuating the thick tension in the room. When she speaks again, it is with a firm tone and a steely glare, daring anyone to object to her decision. “I’ll gather the others and head for Therinfal Redoubt in the morning.”

“Why?” Cullen feels the question leave his lips before his mind can stop him. Three pairs of eyes land on his face, each displaying a combination of confusion and shock, the former probably a lingering effect of the Herald’s confession as much as his own impertinence.

“I suppose you’ve won me over, Commander,” Evelyn replies coldly, sweeping out of the War Room and into the Chantry proper, further taking the others aback.

Cullen can only stand, nearly slack-jawed, until the Seeker, Spy and Ambassador turn an accusatory eye on him. He clears his throat and, with a slightly ducked head, follows in the Herald’s wake.

****  
  



	2. confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 7/12/15
> 
> Thanks to [bushviper](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bushviper/pseuds/bushviper) for some suggestions for clarity! <3

She’s on the roof of her cottage, and Cullen knows he can’t make it up there with all of his armor on. Instead, he approaches, his steps heavy to alert her of his presence.

“Herald?” Cullen calls, softly. “Could I have a moment?”

“Only if you climb up here to take it,” Evelyn refuses to face him, and he scowls a bit, irritation welling up in the face of her obstinacy. Unfortunately for her, he is burdened with the same flaw. Sinking his teeth into the index finger of his glove, he begins removing the cumbersome garments and pieces of armor that would hinder his climb. When the first pauldron hits the ground with a hard thunk, Evelyn deigns to acknowledge him.

“Wait, wait,” Evelyn protests, “I’ll come down. Stop.”

Swinging her legs over the side of the building, she hops down as if it’s a mere few feet to the ground. She dusts her hands on her robes, defiantly crossing her arms over her chest as she watches him gather up his discarded pieces of armor.

“I’m choosing the Templars,” Evelyn begins, eyes dark and tongue full of venom. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“And I’m sure that _my_ pleasure drives the majority of your decisions,” Cullen says, without his brain’s consultation. He grimaces, but luckily for him, she breezes past his gaff.

“I know you were expecting me to choose the mages,” Evelyn huffs, pushing fingers through her hair, gripping at the base of her neck. “You, as in everyone in the War Room. But... I can’t. I’m… not sure what will happen with that many mages near the Breach.”

“I _have_ argued as much,” Cullen agrees, fingers absently tracing the embossed design on the pauldron he had removed. “But I can’t imagine that I influenced you toward this decision. What I’m interested in is what _did_.”

A distance grew in her eyes, almost as if he could see a shutter close against him. It was like this a lot with her, even when she broached the subject of the past.

“Tell me, Cullen,” It was the first time she’d ever used his name, and it made him feel more vulnerable than her heavy stare ever had. “What happened at the Circle in Kinloch Hold?”

Cullen had to hold himself very still, for fear of retreat. He’d told her that he was unwilling to speak on the subject of the Circle. He opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn’t bring anything forth, a rush of fear and bile in his throat.

Perhaps the dissolution of the Circle at Ostwick wasn’t as peaceful as he’d been told. It seemed that she had more secrets than he believed.

“I’m not so sheltered that I don’t understand that either decision is going to have a negative impact in some way,” Evelyn explains. “But choosing the Templars might save the mages. Exposing the Templars to the Breach won’t have any lasting consequences. The mages, though... a mass abomination isn’t exactly what Thedas needs right now. I'm not even sure that I'll be able to...”

Cullen is taken aback by the confession. He’s met few mages that have feared their own power, and have also passed through their Harrowing. He looks at her, now, in the wake of her admission, dissecting the signs written in her mannerisms, their previous conversations, her decisions. Given her suggestion, he guesses that her fear is recently sown, explaining away her successful Harrowing and her rather surprising prowess on the battlefield.

Her eyes meet his, daring him to offer her empty encouragement.

“I wouldn’t let you become a danger,” He promises, brows drawing together and eyes fixed upon hers.

A heavy sigh leaves Evelyn’s lips, and she swallows hard. “I hope that’s true.”

Cullen slips his blunt fingers around her glowing, sundered hand. “I swear it, my lady.”

****  
  



	3. starvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 6/11/15

The others are starting to… _question_. First, their decision to postpone the journey to Therinfal Redoubt. That came with much discussion and complaint. Their second arrangement was not brought to committee, and thus has been only contested with raised eyebrows and lingering, accusing looks. Cassandra has scoffed at the two of them enough for Cullen to crisply advise her to seek out some hot tea for her surely raw throat.

Cullen steers Evelyn out of the War Room at the end of yet another long day and toward her cottage with a firm hand on her shoulder, almost daring one of the other advisors to finally say something about the newfound companionship of the Commander and the Herald. None of them speak a word, but he can feel their eyes boring holes into his armor as they slip out of the Chantry together.

Let them think whatever they want. Cullen knows the truth of it; she is depending on him, and he is more than ready to rise to the occasion. There is nothing untoward between them in the _slightest_. His previous youthful infatuation and his faith have served him well in learning to control his inappropriate urges when needed. He will not be moved to another ill-suited passion. He _will not_.

“They’re confused,” Evelyn echoes his concern as they step in to the sanctity of her - their - cottage. “We should explain.”

“Should we?” Cullen hisses, his patience with their speculation wearing thin after a week of few hours of sleep and many hours of self-recrimination.

Evelyn’s head snaps around to him, admonishment in the crease of her brow and the downturn of her full, scarred lips. “I’m simply making a suggestion. What has you so peevish?”

“I am sorry,” Cullen breathes, pressing his index finger and thumb to the inner corners of his eyes. “I’ve just had enough of people thinking the worst of me.”

“You think they don’t think poorly of me?”

“I know they don’t,” Cullen strides across the room and begins to unfasten his armor. “I’m the Templar taking advantage of a sheltered Circle Mage.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that extremely condescending response,” Evelyn seethes. “Since I’m neither a child, nor incapable of making my own decisions.”

“I’m not suggesting either of those things,” Cullen argues. “I’m only saying that the others know me, and they know things about my past indiscretions that might paint me in a less than innocent light. They won’t necessarily jump to the conclusion of a Templar learning the intricacies of a new charge.”

“You’re not a Templar,” Evelyn argues. "You’ll finally be free of the Order once the lyrium has burned completely out of your system.”

“Are you still certain that I should-?”

“I won’t say this again,” Evelyn interrupts him, rounding on him with a sharp finger. “I think that what you’re doing is one of the bravest things I’ve ever heard. It doesn’t matter to me that you can’t Silence me anymore. You have other kinds of training to keep me in check. Things that don’t require lyrium.”

Cullen sits heavily in the small chair, setting his pauldrons aside. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair and back down his face. Supporting his weary head in his hand, he props his elbow against his thigh and gestures for her to approach him with a vague wave. She’s angry, but her kindness won’t allow her to remain that way for long. He may not allow anything beyond the most basic gestures of physical affection, but she craves it like the desert needs water. He’ll give it to her if he must.

Evelyn answers his summons, unable to deny her need to be near him, looking down on him with concern. Her hand finds his hair, damp with sweat at the nape of his neck, ends curling slightly. He straightens under her scrutiny, daring her to point out his exhaustion.

“Tomorrow we leave for Therinfal Redoubt,” Evelyn reminds him, as if he hasn’t been thinking about it for the past seven days straight, lying awake with her body flush against his side.

He nods, too tired to voice his concerns and too certain of her arguments against them. Too comfortable with her fingernails skimming gently across his scalp.

“Would you come with me?” Her voice is a small, needy thing, so quiet that he almost thinks he’s imagined it until he looks up into her green and gold eyes and sees her fear.

“The others will advise against it,” He tells her, one hand finding the small of her back and the other slipping into the palm of her marked hand. She needs this, physical evidence that she is linked to this plane, and not only the Fade. It is only for her, he assures himself. He takes no pleasure in it.

“Let them,” She whispers, and Cullen is sure she can hear his heart beating against his ribs.

A long moment passes and he presses his face into the soft fabric of her tunic, his head cradled in the valley of her bosom, and he slips both arms around her in a firm embrace. Her hands card through his hair as she shifts closer, her knees slipping between his thighs and bumping against the seat of the chair. He is surrounded by her, willingly so, and his breath comes desperately, as if he’s drowning in her. _Maker_ , he pleads. _She’s so warm..._

“What are we doing?” Cullen voices, his words muffled against the softness of her breasts.

“What we need to do to survive,” Evelyn assures him, and he wishes that he hadn’t spent the past week curled around her, speaking of their past horrors, letting himself begin to care for her. He’s told her of his failures as a Templar, but nothing about the most shameful of his lapses in judgement.

“I don’t know if we’ll survive this,” He whispers, and she forces him to meet her gaze.

“Then shouldn’t we appreciate the time we have now?” Her eyes are hungry, searching for an answering desire in his.

It’s there, but he hopes she won’t see it, won’t notice that he is craving her in ways that fill him with dread as much as consuming yearning. But simply thinking of what he could have from her, right now, with her trusting heart and her aching eyes begging him, it takes all of his control to ignore it.

He wants her to feel safe with him. Some days, he doesn’t feel safe with himself. And it’s clear that the others don’t trust him, either. Cassandra’s sharp eyes flash angrily in his mind, and he realizes that she does, in fact, have a reason to suspect him of wrongdoing. He’s doing wrong right now, in wanting her. Even if he hasn’t touched her beyond this embrace.

“I can’t have them thinking the worst of this - _us_ ,” Cullen replies, his hand finding her shoulder as he rises to stand.

“They already do, apparently,” Evelyn grouses.

“We’ll explain, tomorrow morning. When we tell them that I’ll be heading out with the group,” Cullen assures her. “We have to deal with the Breach. Once the dust has settled on all of that, we can… we should talk.”

Evelyn sighs and nods, her face pressing lightly to the rough surface of his cheek. Her dexterous fingers slip over the buckles, loosening the armor. Raising the metal over his head, he feels lighter, despite years of experience in wearing such cumbersome garments.

Evelyn’s hands rove over his chest under the guise of straightening his tunic, and Cullen clenches his jaw against a groan, fingers gripping her wrists and fixing her with a glare.

“Go get in bed, I’ll be there in a moment,” He commands, and sits down once more to remove his heavy boots. “And for the sake of Sweet Andraste, fall asleep before I get there.”

“Yes, Commander,” She replies, yearning eyes penetrating him as she glances over her shoulder, and he finds that even in her agreement she has found a way to torture him; her words rippling hotly through him.

****  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this chapter, because I wanted to give Evelyn a bit more personality beyond her kindness. Upon re-reading, I felt she was a bit too eager to please, and I wanted to show she's not going to always cheer Cullen on, even when he's being an idiot.


	4. deprivation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 6/11/15

Counting the cracks in the ceiling isn’t the most productive thing he could be doing, but Cullen is determined to focus and ignore the tossing and turning of the mage beside him. Evelyn takes up most of the small bed, forcing him to keep one foot on the floor to avoid falling out. She often turns over several times during the night, sometimes in the throes of nightmares, but a soothing palm between her shoulder blades will calm her in short order.

In the light of day, she’s relaxed and full of humor, taking to leadership with grace and devotion. He watches her, when he can, and no one could ever guess that in the sanctity of this cottage she’s anxious and weary. Some part of him is glad that he is privy to the aspects of her that no one else is; but he feels shame for finding joy and, Maker help him, _possession_ in being there for her worst moments.

Evelyn begins to stir, and Cullen waits until she exhibits signs of struggle; thrashing, crying out, clenching her fists. It isn’t a nightly occurrence, but there have been a few rough bouts of terrors since they’d instituted their arrangement.

Tonight is… _different_.

Her movements are not born of pain, her cries not of fear.

Evelyn presses herself along Cullen’s prone body in ways that he wishes he could allow himself to enjoy. He tries turning her over, away from his form, but her dream continues, and his imagination begins to provide him with possible images of what she’s experiencing.

 _53… 54…_ He stares back up at the planks of wood, trying to ignore the roll of her hips.

Evelyn moans, and he furrows his brow, wishing to be anywhere but here in her bed, achingly hard and impossibly awake. He thinks briefly of getting up and leaving the cottage altogether, but the incident from three days ago sticks in his mind - he’d gotten up to use the chamberpot and she shot bolt upright, trembling and clinging at his tunic with frantic hands. The intensity of her terror surprised both of them, and it took her a half hour to return to sleep.

He can weather this storm. If he can’t find peace in dreams, he hopes that she can. Especially if it means that she can seek out her pleasure with him in her own mind. Perhaps she’d stop trying to coax it out of him in the waking world.

His cock throbs painfully against the laced-up fronts of his trousers, remembering her hands on him earlier in the evening. Even something as innocent as her fingers on his chest surges through his blood and claims every ounce of control he needs to muster.

 _Maker preserve me,_ Cullen prays.

Evelyn suddenly keens, breathless and sagging heavily into the bed, and Cullen heaves a breath of relief as well. If he just waits it out, his own prurient need for her will dissipate and he can attempt to find some sleep, for even a couple of hours.

He isn’t as fortunate as he’d hoped, and when Evelyn awakes four hours later to his bleary-eyed morning greeting, she sweeps a caring hand across the stubble on his jaw, her soft gaze igniting his need for her all over again.

****  
  



	5. castigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 6/11/15

“Cullen,” Cassandra calls to him, her angry strides bringing her to him in short order. “We must talk.”

“Must we?” Cullen bites out, frustration with his addiction, his desires, and his green recruits all bleeding together in the face of her inevitable accusation. He allows his tension a moment of freedom, turning it toward a recruit he’s been particularly vexed with. “ _Soldier!_ Must I remind you that this is a _war_ that you’ll be fighting? Get serious!”

“I don’t know what is going on between you and the Lady Herald-” Cassandra growls, but Cullen has had enough of the speculation.

“No, you _don’t_ ,” He snarls, and out of the corner of his eye he sees that they’ve attracted the attention of several of the troops. He storms away, down the path that leads out into the trees and away from prying ears and eyes. Cassandra follows him, hot on his heels and her face glowing with irritation.

“You are not ready for a dalliance,” Cassandra insists. “You haven’t even begun to feel the withdrawal yet-”

“As far as you know,” Cullen assures her, hotly, and she is taken aback by the delayed confession. They’d agreed that he would inform her of any changes he felt from the lack of lyrium, but he’d been rather… distracted of late. She softens, searching for some sign of struggle on his face, and her lips purse as she sizes him up.

“When?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“A few days ago,” He sighs, remembering the hot sweat that broke out all over him, and the rapid beating of his heart while he stood at the War Table, looking quietly over the iron pieces that determined their movements. He remembers squinting over the current assignments and growing angry that Evelyn and Leliana had argued against using his forces in favor of her agents, even though he’d acquiesced mere minutes before. Paranoia, he realized a few moments later, but it was terrifying at the same time it was predictable.

Cassandra grunts in response, shifting her hands to her hips. “Then surely you understand my concern.”

“This isn’t a dalliance,” Cullen insists. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know that you two have been nigh inseparable for the past week,” She steps closer, urging him to meet her eyes. “Whatever you do together, even if it is _innocent_ , she will feel the consequences of your other decisions. Don’t you think she has enough to concern herself with?”

He does, but he also knows that he can’t go back to the way things were before. Already she’s too precious to him. _And this is why you should end it,_ he argues with himself.

“She asked me to watch out for her,” Cullen explains, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, stirring the dampened hair there. “She’s afraid of what she might…” He stutters, unwilling to voice her fears, fears that are now becoming his, as well.  “Since I was a Templar-”

“You cannot possibly think that you should be supporting her when you’re-”

“We’ve already discussed it,” Cullen interjects, stalling her admittedly legitimate concerns. He wants to believe as Evelyn does. It’s difficult. “She knows that I've given up lyrium. She trusts me.”

“She’s a bleeding heart,” Cassandra sighs. “She’s spent four weeks in the Hinterlands caring for the refugees. Telling her of your struggle only made her want to care for you, as well.”

Cullen has no response for that argument. He knows that she’s just as tied up in his rehabilitation as she is in the dispelling of her own fears and insecurities. Her support has been immeasurably essential to his progress thus far. Walking away from that… he doesn’t think it’s even possible. It’s selfish.

“It’s too late for you to go back, I take it?” Cassandra shakes her head at his obstinance, almost as if she can’t believe she’s going to offer her help to such a fool. “I will be watching you. _Both_ of you.”

Cullen nods, not meeting her eyes, and she storms away, leaving him with his guilt.


	6. realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 6/16/15 - realized I'd made a GLARING continuity error! I must remember not to write at 2am. Sorry, everyone.

Trudging along the path, avoiding everyone’s eyes, Commander Cullen cuts an imposing figure and does not invite conversation. He makes his way to the Chantry, toward the War Room, mentally preparing for the ensuing argument when they tell the others that he’s planning on going into the field. He really should have given Cassandra a forewarning in their earlier conversation, but he was already rubbed raw by her admonishment and admittedly good sense. That, and he’d promised Evelyn that they’d tell the advisors together.

He blinks in the diminished light of the hall, the candles struggling to illuminate the vast darkness of the building. He grimaces in miserable kinship with them. Finally his eyes adjust as he comes to the door of the War Room, and hears raised voices coming from the other side.

“Don’t you think that what you’re asking of him is selfish?” Cassandra scolds, her biting tone raising Cullen’s hackles. Cassandra can lay into him all she wants, but to start a fight with Evelyn-

“I don’t need you to tell me how wrong it is,” Evelyn agrees, and Cullen is stopped short. “I know what he’s going through. Maybe more than you. You agreed to watch over him, but you’ve been too wrapped up in the Inquisition’s efforts. I’ll bet he hasn't told you about the nightmares.”

There is a silence that Cullen can only assume is Cassandra standing dumbfounded. He feels similarly. Evelyn has always been careful to keep the peace, even when giving her orders, even when scolding him for his changing moods. Hearing her now, he feels quite ashamed to have thought he’d have to protect her from the other advisor’s scrutiny.

“He only mentioned that he’d begun to feel the withdrawal,” Cassandra sighs, and it’s so low he can barely hear her.

“He’s not sleeping well, if at all,” Evelyn informs the Seeker, and he can hear the clomp of her boots as she begins to pace. “I’ve been trying to get him to relax, but everything I’ve tried has only given him a short respite.”

Cullen’s heart pounds as he realizes that, while he’s been trying to care for her, she’s been doing her own subtle work on him. The first night he’d told her that he was feeling the effects, she told him that she was feeling anxious and asked him to lay with her on the bed and do some breathing exercises. He’d had his first good night of sleep since he’d reached Haven. A few days later, he spent the morning pretending he didn’t have a splitting headache, and she playfully asked if he would allow her to comb his hair, which became a head massage that turned him into liquid in her hands.

Then, last night…

 _Maker’s breath_ , she’d actually suggested they take solace in each other simply to bring him a few hours of sleep? What was she thinking?

“He is not well enough to be in the field now,” Cassandra says, and Cullen is even more indignant that Evelyn has spoken to the Seeker without him, against their plan. Does she really think he is so incapable of dealing with these issues? Is he really so _fragile_ …?

Pressing a fist to his forehead, he nearly groans at the realization that he has been treating her in the same manner since she confessed her worries to him. This woman had fallen from the Fade, fought her way back to the Breach and stabilized the Rift, spent four weeks in the Hinterlands doing her best to care for every person that had been affected by the mages and the Templars...

 _Sweet Andraste_ , he is a complete buffoon.

Pushing the door open, he draws a small amount of satisfaction from the guilty looks on both of their faces.

“Lady Herald, Seeker,” Cullen greets them, determined not to cause an undue argument, but planning two separate, serious discussions for later. “Am I early?”

“Leliana and Josephine are handling preparations for the group to head out, but they will be here soon,” Cassandra assures him.

No sooner has she said it, the Spymaster and the Ambassador appear.

“Preparations ready?” Evelyn asks brightly, as if she’s excited to face down a tower full of surely hostile Templars. Cullen realizes now just how good she is at acting the part of the enthusiastic Herald of Andraste. It's almost chilling.

“Iron Bull and Vivienne are waiting at the gates,” Leliana replies. “Though I was under the impression that Sera would be joining you, as well?”

“She is,” Evelyn answers, a heavy look directed Cullen’s way. He nods, hiding his disappointment behind a stony expression. “I’ll find her once we finish our other preparations.”

 

 


	7. separation

Cullen laughs weakly as he reflects on the wisdom of removing him from the trip to Therinfal Redoubt. He’s on the floor, bent over his chamberpot, heaving but bringing absolutely nothing up, sweat pouring over his face like rain. His stomach cramps again, and he watches his spit, tinged with red, as it drips thickly into the basin.

He’s never been so ill in his life. He hasn’t even had a cold since he was a small boy. He’s locked himself away inside Evelyn’s cottage, his body betraying him at every turn. He’s spent equal parts sweating, freezing, being violently sick and feeling as though his mouth and throat have turned to sand.

The blood is new, and worrying.

Cullen hopes that he’ll have his strength back when Evelyn returns; he really doesn’t want her to see him this way. Not only because she’ll fuss over him, but because he’s sure she simply won’t see him fit to help her, let alone lead her forces. And when she brings home a retinue of Templars, she’ll have dozens of men at her disposal to watch over her, men who aren’t completely useless and who have lyrium coursing through them in abundance.

Men who can actually do their job.

It’s unkind to think that she’d throw him aside, and he knows it would never happen, but part of him wishes it would. Part of him wishes he’d just disappoint her and go back to taking it.

He doesn’t know if he could bear the face she’d make if he went back to lyrium.

Cassandra knocks but doesn’t wait for his reply; she knows that he’s been in no such state to respond.

“I have brought you new sheets and a meal,” She offers him the tray of food, but he groans and waves it off. Instead, she sets it on the desk and looks him over, crouching beside him. “Have you gotten any rest?”

“I slept a bit, yes,” Cullen lies, closing his eyes as if he’s in pain, but really he doesn’t want her to see the deception there. “Cassandra… there was blood.”

Cassandra looks confused until he urgently grasps for the pot, heaving futilely once more.

“I’ll send for the healer,” She stands, making her way to the door. Cullen gestures wildly, still retching into the basin, but she brusquely throws open the door without regarding him. He’s asked her to keep everyone out of the loop, but he knows that the blood is something she won’t ignore.

He leans back against the bed, breathing heavily, asking the Maker why he should keep going.

He thinks of Evelyn.

****  
  



	8. connection

She returns from her journey quite worse for wear, inversely reflecting Cullen’s recent convalescence. Evelyn and her companions ride at the front of a small group of marching Templars, and she stares dully ahead as if she’s not even there. He’s suddenly trembling with nerves. He’d had a rather loud spat with Cassandra about his fears for her well-being, and she’d assured him they were unfounded. It seems his paranoia was right, after all.

Cullen feels his pulse quicken, his worry over her seemingly a trigger for his symptoms to return. Sweat beads at his forehead and he tries to stand straight at attention, willing the panic attack out of his body. It almost works, until her horse passes him by and he breaks, slipping from the crowd and into a nearby tent to put his head between his knees and breathe.

He isn’t able to seek her out for a private conversation until much later in the evening. There’s the debriefing to attend, and though he’s able to sneak a quick brush of his hand across the small of her back as he enters the War Room, it’s not enough.

After hearing a truncated version of the events at Therinfal, he’s forced to oversee the placement of the new troops and discuss assignments with Barris. He’s not particularly pleased with her decision to disband the Order - furious even - and it isn’t until he wanders into the main gates at sundown that he glances over to the low firelight from her cabin and his frustration is outweighed by his concern.

Sighing, he trudges over, and knocks lightly on the door, despite the fact that he’s been living here for the past month. He can hear her footsteps across the wooden floor and the door slides slowly open, barely revealing the width of her face until she realizes it’s only him.

“Why’d you knock?” She asks, smiling, in defiance of the exhaustion creeping into her voice. “You live here.”

“I wanted to give you the option of turning me away if you needed,” He replies, edging into the building, taking a glance out at the bustling pathway before closing the door carefully. “I can tell you had a rough-”

Evelyn’s lips crash against his, her body barreling them both into the door, fingers gripping his hair painfully. Cullen’s noise of surprise is devoured by her hungry kiss, and his hands reflexively find her hips. Legs twining, he can feel the surge of his desire for her flowing through his veins - disturbingly similar to the melting feeling of lyrium consumption. His fingers tighten violently in response, and she cries out, breaking the connection of their lips. The sound breaks him free from his impulsive surrender to her advances, and he pushes her gently away, sliding out from between her heated body and the door.

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes, scrubbing fingers through his hair, sinking into the chair nearby.

“Me too,” Evelyn admits. “I really didn’t… I mean I _wanted_ to, though I’m usually able to _curb_ that impulse-” She sighs heavily, pacing as she usually does when she has to speak at length about matters beyond the Inquisition. “Cullen, after the things Envy showed me, I just needed you.”

“What did it show you?” He asks, gently urging her to share the details of her confrontation. There are times when she’ll wave a concern aside, small or enormous, but he’s hoping that she truly needs to unburden herself of this experience.

Evelyn hesitates, and Cullen breathes in relief. If she was going to refuse, she’d have done it instantly.

“It wanted to take my form and take the Inquisition, use it for the Elder One’s purpose,” She sighs, closing her eyes against the memories. “It tried to learn more about me by being Leliana, Josephine, and you. I had to watch ‘Leliana’ slit your throat.”

Cullen stands, striding over to her, needing to be close even though the heat of their kiss and the fierceness of his grip still lingers between them. His hands settle on her shoulders, gently, the fear of harming her weighing on his every movement.

“I’m still here,” He promises her, and she melts against him, her cheek pressed against his, lips pressed lightly against his earlobe. They share a long moment, his fingers massaging the column of her neck in soft, slow circles, his breathing slow and deliberate, trying to maintain his control. “You need rest. Let’s sleep.”

Evelyn snorts softly, stirring up the fur of his mantle. “Don’t use ‘let’s’ unless you’re going to actually sleep. It just sounds silly.”

“I’ll sleep better now that you’re back,” Cullen says, and he thinks that it might actually be true.


	9. denigration

Cullen works his arm under her neck, and settles, feeling her questing hand slipping around his middle, one of her legs twining with his. He supposes he’ll allow her a bit of closeness, since she seems to need it. He can control himself. He _must_.

He closes his eyes, but feels her soft palm caress the roughness of his jaw, and he glances down at her, finding her olive eyes in the darkness of the cabin.

“Please,” Evelyn whispers. “Just a kiss?”

Cullen’s heart pounds, given even the smallest of physical temptation. He wants to, _Maker_ , it’s all he can think about most days… and after the searing kiss against the door? A good-night kiss can’t possibly shatter his resolve any further. The guilty part of him thinks of her cry, when he allowed even a fraction of his vicious impulses to break free.

There are many reasons not to kiss her, but in the face of her need, her pleading eyes, he’s brought to ruin.

Cullen tips forward, closing his eyes as her feather-soft mouth slips gently against his, slightly open but not questing beyond the delicate press and drag of her lips. He’s trembling as she grazes them across the corner of his mouth as she slips back down into the comfort of his arm, and he tries but fails to contain his breath of relief.

Evelyn’s fingers play with the ties on his tunic for a moment before she settles her hand on his stomach.

“I know you wanted to wait until the Breach was dealt with,” She whispers, her breath ghosting across his neck. “But I feel that might be inadvisable.”

Cullen sighs, but also grunts in agreement. “It does seem insensible to wait until after our possible deaths.”

Evelyn chuckles breathily. “So…”

“So…?” Cullen parrots, nuzzling her hair.

“What are your reasons for not having sex with me?”

“Maker’s breath!” He sputters, feeling his cheeks heat. “I thought we’d at least ease into this conversation.”

“I prefer to get to the heart of the matter,” Evelyn laughs, hand cupping his burning cheek.

“I suppose you do,” Cullen smirks, gripping her hand in his and easing it away from his face.

“So are you just nervous?” Evelyn prods, hand skirting dangerously low on his abdomen. “Or maybe you’ve never done it before…?”

Cullen growls, his wounded pride driving him to show her that he _knows_ what to do, show her what he _wants_ to do to her. Prying her hand away from the laces on his trousers and pinning it above her head, rolling slightly on top of her, he drives a muscled thigh between hers. The surprised gleam in her eyes, the breathily parted _O_ of her lips, the tremor in her limbs… he blinks down at her in shamed astonishment of the brief loosening of his control.

He almost rolls away, guilty, when her eyelids hood with desire, and her hips roll against him, legs parting to bring her heat flush against his thigh.

Cullen’s fingers tighten around her wrist, and this time she moans instead of crying out. He gasps at the rush of blood to his loins, rocking hard against her. The electric jolt of pleasure that rips through him sparks sense back into his brain and he tears himself away from her and out of the bed.

“Cullen!” Evelyn cries, sliding to the edge of the bed in chase, and he grimaces, hesitating only slightly before storming out of the cottage and into the freezing night.

Stomping down the mountain path to the abandoned cabin of the former apothecary, he’s still sweating despite the temperature, and he feels the itch, the blazing craving that tells him he’s in for a rough night.

He should have stayed and talked with her.

He knows that if he had, talking is the last thing that would have happened.

“You test the bars, and she wants to break them. She doesn’t understand why you want to remain caged.”

Cullen nearly jumps out of his over-heated skin, whirling around and grabbing for the sword that now leans against the desk in Evelyn’s cabin. Realizing he’s completely unarmed, he braces himself, even after realizing it’s the boy Evelyn had brought back with her from Therinfal Redoubt.

“Leave me,” Cullen commands, his skin prickling with his unease for the creature.

“You need her to need you, but you’re the one who is saved,” Cole insists, completely undisturbed by Cullen’s imposing stature and hostile tone. “She’s a diamond, strong and prized. You wish she was simply glass, breakable and common, and that desire turns to bile in your mouth.”

“Begone, demon!” Cullen shouts, pulse thundering and stinging tears burning in his eyes. Cole is gone. Cullen is left shaking and sweating among the trees and the moonlight, angry and helpless against the truth. “ _Void take me_.”

He stumbles, limbs still wracked with tremors, into the apothecary’s cabin and slams the door behind him.


	10. consultation

Cullen has taken over Taigen’s cabin since the disastrous evening that he’d almost given in to his libidinous desires for Evelyn. He can’t face her without feeling guilty for running out on her, and shameful of the urges that forced him to do so. He’s seen her, passing by her cabin in the evenings, sitting alone and looking pensive, but whenever they attend War Council meetings, she refuses to meet his eyes, and her brow furrows in anger when she is required to acknowledge his advice.

He can’t really blame her.

There’s a knock on his door, and he sighs, padding over the wooden floor on bare feet. He tugs on a loose tunic, assuming that it will be Cassandra on the other side, but he’s surprised when he opens the door to The Iron Bull.

“Bull,” Cullen blinks up at the large man. “Can I help with something?”

“No,” Bull answers, shouldering into the cabin. “But maybe I can help you.”

“I don’t-”

“You should stay away from the lyrium stores,” Bull begins, and Cullen’s posture immediately tenses. “I’ve had them moved, and I won’t tell you where. I’ve assigned Rylen to oversee the shipments and their location; he’s the only one of your men that knows where they are. All under the guise of keeping them safe from theft, of course.”

“And he just accepted this order without my consent?” Cullen frowns, crossing his arms angrily over his chest.

“He did,” Bull nods. “Rylen’s not an idiot.”

Cullen grits his teeth, embarrassed and angry that so many have guessed his weakness.

“Now,” Bull leans back in his chair and crosses a leg over his thigh. “I don’t think I can mend fences with the Herald for you. So what are you gonna do about it?”

“That, as well as my troubles with lyrium, are frankly none of your business, Bull,” Cullen replies, feeling the prickle of irritation and anxiety ebb through him.

“They are when they affect the Inquisition,” Bull crosses his arms, as well. “And when I say “Inquisition”, I mean the Herald, specifically. She’s no weakling, but her concern over you has her distracted, and none of us can afford that. So, I ask again: what’re you gonna do to patch things up?”

“I’m not sure I _should_ ,” Cullen sighs, sinking onto the bed. “Cassandra was right. I’ve got too many problems of my own to foist them onto her shoulders.”

“As far as I see it, you’ve only got one problem that she can’t handle,” Bull raises an eyebrow. “What’s stopping you from poppin’ your cork with her?”

Cullen nearly falls off the bed. “This is a highly inappropriate discussion!”

“You want to rough her up, but you _don’t_ want to, am I right?” Bull grins. “You seem like the type. Tight and repressed. You’re just _itching_ to do something wrong.”

Cullen grows cold. Was it that easy to see it? The taint inside him, making him want to press demanding fingers into her, bend her to his will, take her and possess her and-

“It’s not _that_ wrong, you know,” Bull assures him. “As long as she’s into it. Which I’m a _thousand_ percent certain she is.”

“How could you possibly know _that_?” Cullen’s blood flares with jealousy.

“How could I possibly know it about _you_?” Bull retorts. “It’s all in the way you look at each other. Also, when I first arrived, she asked me some pretty interesting questions. Though I’m guessing _you_ won out ‘cause she preferred the Templar in you. I’m sure it adds another forbidding layer to the attraction.”

Cullen glowers at Bull, making him very aware that the last bit was less than helpful.

Bull stands, trudging over to the door. “I’m just lookin’ out for you. I like you. I like the Herald. I’m the type that doesn’t talk it out. I’d just take her up against the wall and read her body language. But I’m sure _you_ can’t allow yourself to do that, so you’d better actually _spine up_ and tell her your dirty secret. Either she’s into it, or she isn’t, and you two can move on.”

Cullen watches Bull leave, unable to respond. He flops back onto the bed, hands scrubbing at his eyes as the headache begins to claim his mind. _Everyone is so helpful,_ he thinks sardonically. If only he had the nerve to actually confess such a thing. And how would he go about it? _Herald, I do quite enjoy the idea of being intimate with you, but I’m particularly fond of pleasure in pain._

“Andraste’s _tits_ ,” Cullen curses, pressing fingers to the corners of his eyes.

_ What have I done? Can I ever make it right? _


	11. communication

As the rest of the Templars pour into Haven, the discussions of closing the Breach become plans to do so. Cullen suffers another attack of panic when focusing on the possibility that Evelyn won’t return from the ordeal alive, and that is when he decides to finally gather his courage.

He watches her, over the War Table, talking quietly with Cassandra about some issue, and the focus and determination on her face squeezes his heart in a vice grip. She’s facing her greatest fear without him, and that’s exactly what he’d promised would not happen. His shame over his lust for her is vastly outweighed by his failure to her.

After an hour, the others begin to file out of the War Room, but he clears his throat, catching her attention, holding her mossy gaze, and he can see the understanding that he’s finally ready to face her.

When the others are gone, he finds himself caught in her eyes, until she looks away, face pinched in irritation.

“I should not have run out,” Cullen blurts out, throat constricting around the shame. “Not without telling you why.”

“Now’s a bit late, don’t you think?” She spits, bitter and hurt.

“Yes,” He nods, eyes downcast, hand gripping the pommel of his sword. “I can’t ask your forgiveness, but merely offer an explanation. I don’t know if it would make you feel better, but I hope it will.”

“Well, then,” Evelyn raises an eyebrow, nodding sharply upward. “Go on.”

“Ah,” Cullen rubs his neck, feeling the flush of embarrassment in his cheeks. “I - Maker’s breath, this is difficult.” He shakes his head, feeling foolish, but when her expression does not waver, her focus completely on him, he straightens, gathering his courage. She deserves this of him. “I want you, _very much_.”

Evelyn blinks, only once, but that and the slight parting of her lips is enough to show that she is shocked by his admission. As if running out had completely robbed her of any confidence in his attraction - confidence that his wanton touch might have given her. “I want you, but I... have _inclinations_ that you might not share.”

“How could you possibly know that if you don’t _ask_?” Evelyn looks more disappointed than angry, now. “Cullen, I _needed_ you these past few days. I’m going up against the Breach, and I have been laying awake at night wondering if I’m going to die, or become an abomination. That night, I wanted desperately to connect with you, but you took that choice away from me!”

Cullen presses a hand against his forehead, feeling even worse than before. “I am a fool.” He offers, truly hating himself, now.

“ _Yes_ , you are!” Evelyn shouts, and she looks just as surprised as he is.

Finally, he rounds the War Table, slipping into her space, his hands slowly reaching for her, and she doesn’t move, simply stands still, as if any movement would stop him from folding himself around her. Once his arms encircle her, she sags against him, pressing her face against his neck, her hands slipping beneath his mantle and hugging tightly to his armor.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Cullen confesses, whispering into her ear.

“It’s too late for that,” Evelyn scolds him, and he winces with it. “But I forgive you.”

He grips her tighter, every ounce of gratitude for her forgiveness, for her very _existence_ , poured into the circle of his arms.


	12. sensation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW.
> 
> I've been looking at this for a week and a half, I guess it's about time I post it. <3

“We’ll be setting off for the Breach in three days, to allow the Herald some rest before attempting to close it,” Leliana announces to the advisors and the inner circle. “I suggest we all enjoy some down time as well. We’ll have another meeting tomorrow afternoon, and everyone will receive their assignments in preparation. As you were.”

The gathered room nods in tandem, filing out to return to whatever they'd been doing before being disturbed by the sudden, and in Cullen’s opinion, unnecessary, status update.

Returning to his various piles of paperwork, he feels eyes on him, and glances up curiously to find the source. Leliana remains, her silent concern prickling over his skin. She smiles gently at him, but the tilt of her eyebrows sets his pride aflame. Her piteous concern nags at him in his exhausted and pained state, even though he knows she means well.

“Something you’d like to say?” Cullen snarls, returning his focus to his papers.

“I only wished to ask how you’ve been,” Leliana’s musical voice grates in his ears, and he clenches his jaw against the sound, as well as the throbbing burn in his skull and behind his eyes. “Though I can see the answer in your disposition. Can I help in any way?”

“I just need some _quiet,_ ” Cullen replies, more curtly than he intended, a stab of pain surging through his jaw. This was a particularly bad headache, and he was slowly losing control of his temperament.

“Then I suggest you put down your work and make your way to your bed,” Leliana insists, even going so far as to push him gently away from the war table and removing the papers from his grip. “You were instructed to enjoy some relaxation. Go and find the Herald. Take a rest.”

Cullen wants to argue, but at the same time, he imagines Evelyn’s fingers threading through his hair and down his neck, easing the fire from his brain. He acquiesces far more quickly than Leliana had been expecting. Her blink of surprise at his nod clearly displays her disbelief, though a smile follows closely in its wake.

Once outside the Chantry doors, the sunlight glancing off the mountains does nothing for the agony in Cullen's eyes. He strides toward the tavern with a hand shielding them, his steps purposeful, even cheerful. Evelyn often spends her free time here, among her friends and the soldiers, laughing and enjoying life’s simple pleasures, and today is no exception. Reaching the door, Cullen can’t help but take a few moments to watch her giggle and nudge Sera, knocking her mug against Bull’s with a wicked grin. Even with lightning sparking through his weary eyes, he smiles sadly, her cheer tugging guilt from his chest.

Cullen turns away and makes his way back to their cottage, extinguishing the lanterns and stripping down to his breeches to lay back on the bed with a heavy sigh. The bed is cold and empty without her, but he can’t imagine stealing away her happiness for himself. He falls asleep uncomfortably, fever and exhaustion claiming him.

___________

Cullen awakens far warmer than when he’d fallen asleep, consciousness returning to him in degrees. He can feel her pressed against him, her back bare against his own naked chest, blankets tangled around their arms and legs, her trousered arse flush against his aching cock.

He groans as she shifts, his hips pistoning reflexively and riding the cleft of her buttocks, a hot surge of pleasure coursing through him. Hissing through his teeth, he tries to roll away, but soon realizes his arm is trapped underneath her.

“You’re awake,” Evelyn murmurs, rolling back against him and fixing him with a dazzling, sleepy smile. Cullen tries to focus on her face, even though her bared chest tempts his gaze. Her lips part around a throaty chuckle, and smooth fingers tease through his stubble, a sweep along his jaw that tingles all the way down to his cock. “I was a bit tipsy and knackered when I got back, so I only got halfway through changing before I gave up. I hope you don’t mind.”

Cullen grits his teeth and grips her wrist, tugging her hand down to the pulsing need straining against the front of his smallclothes, grunting at the contact and the rush of control over her touch. He glances back at her face, an apology on his lips as he considers the impulsive maneuver.

“I suppose you _don’t,_ ” Evelyn smiles, hardly offended. Her eyes are dark with want, the fullness of her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. She doesn’t remove her hand, but grips him as best she can through the fabric. Her breasts - Maker, he’s looked, and now he can’t look away - are heaving with her quickened breath.

He wants to _devour_ her.

Cullen closes his eyes, trying to will himself to tell her to stop, but he can’t think of anything but the pressure on his cock and the image of her lip between her teeth. She shifts beside him, switching hands, and he feels a tug at the waist of his smalls. His hand tries once more to still her movements and she stops, but the soft press of her mouth on his coaxes his grip open and he allows her to continue.

“Cullen,” Evelyn’s smoky voice is right in his ear, her hot breath puffing over the shell. “Let me take care of you.”

He surges against her, hands gripping her face, her shoulder; his mouth crashes against hers, biting, licking, forcing hers to open. Her squeal of surprise is swallowed whole, and she pushes his shoulder, shifting her weight and pinning him back onto the bed. He blinks up at her, surprised by her strength, and she smiles down at him with a feral tilt to her lips.

“Sorry,” He huffs, face flushing with embarrassment.

“Oh, please, don’t be,” Evelyn breathes, dipping down to claim his lips. After the delicate drag of her kiss, she props her head up on her hand, elbow bent close to his head as she fixes him with a searching stare. After a moment, she seems to find the answer to the unasked question of her gaze. “Let’s try something.”

“What-?” Cullen is dazed, her kiss, her fierceness, her hands on him - it’s almost too much.

“Lay perfectly still,” Evelyn commands, as her hand trails lazily across his chest, absently teasing at a nipple. Cullen’s head snaps back as she works at it, biting his lip in effort not to move.

“I want you to tell me what you want to do to me,” Evelyn tells him, her hand now working its way down his abdomen, slowly reaching the dusting of dark hair below his navel. “Don’t think about it, just tell me.”

_“Evelyn-”_

Her hand slips into his smalls and she guides him out, his cock harder than ever, her calloused, strong fingers squeezing him, and he can barely breathe around the jolts of pleasure firing off throughout his body.

“Cullen.” Evelyn seems to demand his attention. “If you tell me what you want, there’s a _fairly_ good chance that it will happen.”

He bites down on the words that he fears, but she eases his foreskin down, over the head of his cock, pressing a finger to the drop pooling at the tip. Cullen cries out, hips rocking up as if he’s been shocked.

“I want to hold you down and push my cock into you-” Cullen can’t stop his mouth, her hand is stroking him roughly, her lips are on his neck and she’s already moaning against him. “I want to grip your hair while I watch your mouth take every last inch of me. I want to leave marks all over you so that no one in Thedas will ever think they can have you - Evelyn, _fuck_ -”

Her hand leaves his length and he cringes, knowing she’s disgusted with him, with his horrifying desire to claim her, to defile her-

When he finally can bear to look, she’s on her back shimmying her trousers and smallclothes down over her thighs, and he can barely believe that his admission hasn't sent her running out into the night. Cullen turns toward her, watching as she rolls over, presenting her bared bottom to him and his throat runs dry, the curve of her arse calling out to his hands. Evelyn arches her back, inviting him to take her, and he groans, pushing her shoulder into the bed, forcing her face into the pillows as he leans down and bites her - _hard_ \- on her perfect, delicious behind.

Evelyn cries out in surprise, but she’s still arching back, her wetness just visible above the waist of her breeches, and Cullen can’t keep his hands from exploring the slick slit with his thick fingers. She’s mewling and clawing the sheets, and he watches two fingers disappear inside her with ease. They both groan, and Cullen circles a finger around her jewel, causing her to buck and beg his name.

With a snarl, he rips the pants off of her legs, grips her arse in his broad hands and parts her lips with his thumbs, pressing a messy kiss to her core, his tongue darting over her with passionate rage. The taste of her is intoxicating, and he teases at her clit with his thumb as he tries to fit three fingers inside her as well as his tongue. Her moans send aching surges to his cock and he’s desperate to be inside her.

He angles her hips just the way he needs them, arched and displaying her desire for him, before he positions himself behind her.

“ _Evelyn,_ ” Cullen warns, and she backs up, her cunt brushing the tip of his cock, and he roars with need as he sinks himself completely to the hilt inside her, her answering cry pulsing through him.

They rock together violently, his hands digging into her shoulders, her hair, her hips, while she struggles to thrust back against him. The grip of her heat is sweeter than he’d ever imagined, and he pounds away, delighting in the harsh cries he’s driving out of her with each buck of his hips.

Cullen leans back, blinking through the carnal haze clouding his vision, to take in the nearly unbelievable sight before him: Evelyn’s wavy, dark hair spilling around her, the curved line of her spine leading up to her arse, a bite mark on her left cheek, the smooth globes curving toward the wet parting of her sex around his cock. His hands knead the flesh of her backside as he groans, feeling his orgasm building. Sharply, he cracks a hand across the pale flesh of the unmarked cheek, and she doesn’t scream as he expects, but moans, deep and guttural and it unmakes him instantly.

“ _Fuck_ ,” He cries, pulling out of her to spill on the sheets as he fingers her clit, hoping that he’s not too late to make her come along with him. She’s shaking, all of her muscles tensing and he knows that she’s over the edge, too, and he sags with relief. They both sink to the damp surface of the bed, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat, and he presses against her back as if he hopes to become adhered to her.

Cullen runs rough fingers over her curves, smoothing the red hand print and purpling bite mark on her buttocks, brushing his lips over her shoulders and slipping a hard thigh between hers. Once she’s caught her breath, Evelyn turns into his embrace and sweeps her fingers across his rough jaw with another sleepy smile.

The moment passes blissfully, but just as Evelyn chuckles breathily, undoubtedly about to tell him that she told him so, he feels a rush of tension in the base of his head, a sharp stab of pain right where his skull meets his neck, and he is nearly blinded by the overwhelming _agony_ of it.

Cullen wrenches himself away from Evelyn, sitting upright violently as he grips his head in his hands, the fire spreading to his eyes and teeth. It’s exactly like the headache he’d suffered before his nap, only magnified exponentially, and it’s not long before he completely blacks out.


	13. abruption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to say, but I'm abandoning this work after this chapter. I've refocused on a rather longer piece that I've been working on for some time, a work that I'm much more satisfied with. I hope that once I've begun posting it, you'll read that as well. There will undoubtedly be elements of this story contained in the new story, as it was begun mainly to re-work this one.
> 
> For now, I feel bad leaving you wondering at Cullen's fate from the last chapter. This isn't very long, but at least it will satisfy the suspense.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your kudos and wonderful comments! <3

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Evelyn asks, for the fortieth time in two days. “We can put it off for another day or two.”

“No, we can’t, and I won’t allow you to ignore your duties simply because you’re worried about me,” Cullen argues, brow arching.

“Won’t allow it?” Evelyn challenges, even though her hands grip his lightly and with care.

“The people of Thedas - all of them - are more important than one man. Especially when that one man is completely fine.” Fine enough to finally leave this bed, he decides, though he vows to wait until Evelyn leaves the room.

“Hn.” Evelyn grunts, not convinced. “Maybe when this damned Breach is sealed, I’ll be able to focus all of my fussing onto you, instead of Thedas.”

“Maker help me,” Cullen chuckles, squeezing her hand with fondness. He leans into her, seeking out her kiss, but she backs away, face flushed.

“I- I need to gather the others,” She stands, dropping his hand with haste and scurrying out the door of their cottage. “I’ll check on you before we leave.”

Cullen sighs. She’s been studiously avoiding any physical contact since he’d passed out after their truncated but initially lovely encounter, as if her touch would send him back into unconsciousness, or worse. He supposes, in her shoes, he would probably feel the same. Nevertheless, it is something that they’ll have to discuss eventually.

“Once this is all over,” Cullen promises himself, as he stands, searching for his armor.

His withdrawal was bound to have some nasty side effects, other than the extremely inconvenient bouts of crippling headaches, paranoia and nausea. He’d expected much worse, far earlier, than occasional blackouts and profuse nosebleeds. Frankly, Cullen is surprised to still be of sound mind at this point.

But Evelyn worries, no matter how small the discomfort, for not only himself but all of her friends. Cole’s need for guidance in the human world has brought out the mother in her, and she has since taken the boy under her wing. Even as Evelyn herself is overburdened with duties, she has offered to lighten Cassandra's load. It was no surprise to learn that she had been working out how to pick away at Blackwall's emotional armor. It is endearing, to be sure, but Cullen can’t help but wonder how she hasn’t run herself into the ground worrying over everyone she meets.

He counts himself lucky that out of all of them, she seems to find him special, for whatever reason. He certainly can’t see it.


End file.
